


What She Came For

by ifitwasribald



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:19:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6816412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifitwasribald/pseuds/ifitwasribald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Civil War, Natasha has unfinished business with T'Challa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What She Came For

"What brings you to Wakanda?" T’Challa watches her carefully, betraying neither pleasure nor concern at her presence.

Natasha shrugs. "I was bored. And things weren't feeling all that welcoming in Europe anymore."

“The Secretary still holds you responsible for the way the airport incident concluded."

She lets her mouth curl in a smile that's more mocking than bitter. "Something you had a hand in, I hear."

He has the grace to look embarrassed. "I apologize. I did not have all the facts."

"Yeah, well, I figure you owe me. You must have a spare room someplace around here." She gestures at the sleekly opulent room they stand in, and the wide corridor leading deeper into his palace.

"Of course." He pauses, studying her face. "I think that is not all you're looking for, here."

She smiles. "I'd like a rematch. Six on six complicates things too much for good observation. I want to know what the Black Panther can do."

One of his eyebrows arches. "Because?"

"Because next time something goes down, we'll be on the same side. Or not. Either way--" It isn't exactly true, or rather, it doesn't exactly cover the restless itch that urges her to test him, to try his strength and his will against hers. But it's close enough.

"And this will satisfy my... debt?" The word sounds strange on his tongue, mocking her in a way that she finds oddly compelling.

"Sure."

"All right." He motions to the well armed women who stand slightly behind him. They nod curtly and leave the room. "Shall we?"

She smiles, hot anticipation surging through her. "Let's."

There’s no preamble—he rushes her, his armor blooming over his skin with a smooth motion that puts Stark's suits to shame. By the time he's in reach it covers him head to toe, and she can't see his eyes.

She doesn't need to, though. She's got the advantage on the first pass, his momentum making it easy to side step him and thrust out an ankle just so, but he falters for only an instant.

They exchange blows, fast and hard, and it's as much of a challenge as she hoped and feared. He's incredible--not just his suit or his speed, but his tactics, his reflexes, all a match her own. Could be more than match, she thinks. Hopes.

She doesn't give up easy, but maybe she doesn't take every opening she could, doesn't exploit every advantage the way she might in other circumstances. So it's probably sooner than it should be that she's flat on her back on the marble tile with the tips of his nails pressing ever so slightly against the skin of her neck.

"Well played." She offers her concession with a smile that she suspects he won't misinterpret.

T’Challa pushes off his mask. "I am unsure if I can say the same.” His tone as grave as ever but his eyes alight.

"I have no idea what you mean," she tells him, shifting her hips up to meet his. "You won fair and square."

"And what did I win?"

"What do you want?" It’s a challenge that she’s sure he can’t mistake.

And sure enough, he doesn’t. ”What I want, I find, is this." His hand trails down her throat and keeps going, the razor tip of one finger parting the leather of her shirt like it's silk, leaving a whisper of pain on the skin beneath.

She gasps, arching into the touch, and he bends to kiss her, hard and fast.

When he pulls away, there’s a question in his eyes. 

She swallows and nods, hoping that she doesn’t look quite as eager as she feels.

He sits up, still straddling her thighs, and grasps the remains of her clothes, tearing them away until she’s bare under him. His suit feels strange against her skin, supple as leather but metal-cold. She finds herself wondering what his thigh would feel like between hers, against her clit. 

Natasha lets her hips rock up toward him again, eager for something more than his sharp regard. But he shakes his head, making a soft little tsking sound. “I believe the issue at hand is what I want. Is it not?”

She feels a flood of heat, to her cheeks and her cunt both. “Yes,” she agrees.

His hand moves to her lips. “I want this.”

She nods.

“You will kneel for me.” It isn’t quite an order, but it isn’t quite a question either.

She nods again, and he stands, all quiet grace.

She pulls herself to a kneeling position, shedding what remains of her clothes, and looks up. Licks her lips.

His eyes sweep over her, dark with lust. Then, slowly, his armor recedes and he’s once again clad in a simple suit. He pulls out his cock and moves to cup the back of her neck with one hand.

Her lips part around him. She lets her eyes flutter shut, the better to focus on the feel of it, the way he lies heavy on her tongue. She leans into him, enjoying his groan as she finds her rhythm. He doesn’t thrust into her mouth the way some men do, instead waiting, all but impassive, for her to do the work.

And she will. Right now, for him, there’s nothing she wants more.

Almost nothing.

So she works him with her lips and tongue, bobbing forward and back, the balance easy enough even with her hands clasped behind her back. 

He isn’t as responsive as she’d like, his hips still, making only the occasional murmur of appreciation. It’s usually easy to know what a man likes, when he’s close. But not this man. There’s something almost humiliating about his careful control. She isn’t sure that she likes it, but it sets off a spike of lust anyway.

Suddenly, he grips her hair in one hand and pulls her away. An instant later he’s shoved her to the floor and covered her with his body. She can feel the head of his cock at the lips of her cunt. “Yes. Please, please yes.” She can’t even bring herself to regret begging.

And then he’s inside her, deep and hard and fast and perfect. He holds her wrists tight against the floor and takes her with none of the finesse she’s sure he’s capable of. It’s exactly what she needs, and she spares a thought to wonder if he’s only doing this for her. But no, she may not be able to read him as well as she’d like, but he’s fucking her with a rough need that can’t be faked. She lets go of the thought and focuses on nothing but the spread of her legs, the weight of him, and the hard strokes of his cock.

Without breaking rhythm, he shifts to hold both her hands above her head. His other hand moves to her throat.

“Yes. Oh, fuck, yes.”

His fingers tighten, just a little, just enough so she can feel the hot, tense pressure like whiskey in her veins. It sends fear rippling through her and tips her over the edge, throbbing around his rough strokes.

He groans and she can feel him coming too, his breath finally growing ragged as he spends himself and collapses against her.

She trembles through the aftershocks for a long while, the warm weight of his body making her every nerve sing. He recovers himself before she does, if only just.

He rolls to one side, propping his head on one arm, and his eyes rake down her body. “This. Is it what you came here for?”

“Which answer do you want?”

His fingers trail over her stomach, down to slip between her thighs where they set off new aftershocks. “The one that means we will do this again.”

“Yeah,” she manages. “That’s the one I like too.”


End file.
